


venture to be wise (the unvoiced need we carry inside remix)

by flammablehat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Beginnings, Domestic, F/M, Food, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise.” ― Horace</p>
            </blockquote>





	venture to be wise (the unvoiced need we carry inside remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The unvoiced need we carry inside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299004) by [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim). 



> So many thanks to the mods for their patience and understanding and for organizing Camelot Remix 2015! You are both the very best!
> 
> Dearest Glim! I knew almost immediately that this was the story I wanted to work with, and spent pretty much the rest of the allotted remix time struggling to feel like I'd lived up to its gentleness and poignance. It took me too long to really grasp the theme of loss underpinning your fic, but when I finally did it helped me realize that my remix is an attempt at the inverse - the three of them finding each other. I truly hope you like it!

_January: Feasting_

"I hate feast days," Merlin said. Gwen smiled. 

"It's only your second ever," she chided him, leaning across the table to grab an abandoned trencher. Merlin winced, his lower back twingeing in sympathy. 

The hall glowed a smoky orange, lit by slowly dying torches and candlelight sunk deep into shells of wax. It had to be almost two hours past midnight already. 

Merlin slumped onto Gwen's table, face twisting at the faint popping sensation in his spine. Gwen quirked a brow and tugged an embroidered table runner out from under his rump. 

"I take it you're done working, then?" 

"You mean there's more to do?" Merlin groaned. Gwen laughed, filling his belly with a tickling, pleasant heat. Then his stomach grumbled. He almost pushed the feeling aside from long habit, before he remembered that Gaius would have set something out for him to eat whenever he finished his duties for the evening. The thought of food gave him a small boost of energy, enough to stagger reluctantly to his feet. Pins and needles lanced from his heels to his knees and his back gave an audible crack as he stretched.

“Alright,” he said. “What next?” 

Gwen sighed a little, straightening. 

“Honestly?” she said, resting her fists on her hips. “Let’s leave it. We’ll be up again soon enough to finish in the morning.” 

“Well, now I...don’t know if I should be relieved or dismayed,” Merlin said, enjoying a little bubble of victory when Gwen laughed again. Ealdor rarely entertained guests, so the people Merlin knew he’d known for most of his life. It was an odd thing to be the relative stranger in Camelot, where pretty and important girls like Gwen smiled at him and made him eager to be liked. 

“Come on,” she said, sweeping used cutlery into a pile on her trencher with her greasy rag. “Gather up those goblets; I have a surprise for you.” 

Behind her back, Merlin fought the urge to flush and lift his brows, quashing it before it could fully take shape. He hugged as many goblets into his arms as he could carry, trotting to catch up with her. 

The kitchen sweltered even though the cooking fires had fallen to embers. The last of the serving staff were packed at the prep table, lending a human dampness to the heat that felt like summer even in the heart of winter. Someone had cracked the outer door, admitting threads of piercing cold that twisted about their ankles. 

“Go on,” Gwen said after they’d dumped their burdens into the abandoned washing basins. “Take a seat.” 

She guided him into a space at the foot of the table, squeezing in beside him as the others grudgingly made room. Spread before them were platters of food: shredded bits of meat piled high near his elbow, a wide bowl overflowing with slightly charred root vegetables, the tough and waxy rinds of hard cheeses, enough bread to feed Ealdor’s two lean hogs for a week. The fat on the meat had already begun to congeal and the smell of the food was almost overwhelmed by the sweat and soot of the kitchen, but Merlin’s mouth flooded with saliva. He’d never seen such a banquet. The scullery maid seated on his right nudged him gently, passing him a loaf of bread with a burnt crust but a soft, warm center. 

“Do servants in Camelot always eat so well?” he asked with a touch of wonderment. He had been looking forward to a bowl of Gaius’ thin soup all night. The last time he’d seen food like this had been on Arthur’s plate that evening. The maid snorted, but good-naturedly. 

“Not often,” Gwen said, accepting the bread after Merlin had ripped off a hunk for himself. “Only after feast days.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. This was the same food they had served the nobility hours before. The wine in their wooden cups was the same wine Arthur had waved away from his goblet at the end of the night. Someone had stripped the leftover venison and ham from their bones and salvaged the remaining scraps into a surprisingly abundant table. 

“Doesn’t Cook mind?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth, prompting the maid to snort again. 

“It’d only go to waste or compost otherwise,” she said. “And besides, the Lady Morgana gave her express permission, so if any man objects he had better be our good prince or king, else we’ll take no notice.” 

Merlin glanced at Gwen, noting the warmth in her cheeks and her sudden preoccupation with chewing. 

“The Lady Morgana is very kind to think of us,” he said, watching Gwen’s blush intensify. The scullery maid - he really should learn her name - hummed a noncommittal agreement, returning to her plate. There wasn’t much conversation along the length of the table, exhaustion leaving them to enjoy their lukewarm dinner in companionable silence.

Merlin loaded up his plate and grinned; tonight he would eat like a prince.

* * *

_April: Enjoying the country or picking flowers_

In all her years working for the Pendragons, Gwen had never once shirked her duties. She knew this spoke to more than her diligence alone, because few servants were as fortunate in their masters as she was in Morgana. Greta and Marion had cause to dawdle or skive off without notice, working as they did in the kitchens under Cook’s thumb. 

But that morning Gwen had found herself in a queer mood. It was the first truly lovely day of spring, and though she had no real cause to avoid heading back into town, she emerged from the forest with her laden basket and took a moment to observe the city from afar. Somehow, Camelot loomed large even from a distance. The minute activity of people and carts and animals around the sheer white stones of the castle only served to exaggerate its size. 

An unaccountable shiver chased through her. The sun was bright and warm, the breeze playful but mild. Gwen set aside her basket of herbs and wildflowers and sat down in the springy green moss and wild grass that laced the edge of the forest. No one was waiting for her back in town. If she enjoyed a short rest, who would be the wiser? The ferns and drifting clouds would keep her company, and afterwards she could slip back into the flow of her day as if it had never happened.

It figured that the first and only time she indulged such shameful idleness, Arthur would be the one to discover her - by nearly tripping over her, no less. 

Gwen clambered to her feet.

“Guinevere?” he said, recovering gracefully. “What are you doing out here?” His tone changed. “Is something wrong?” 

“What?” she said. He looked very handsome with a pinched brow, she noticed. He also seemed ready to leap into his saddle. She hadn’t answered his question. Oh. He thought she’d come from the castle to look for him. Oh no. 

“No, oh no, everything is fine - I’m not—” she covered her face, biting back most of a small, mortified groan.

“Are you alright?” he asked. When she peeked between her fingers, his expression had shifted from worry to a hesitant half-grin. 

“Quite alright, milord,” Gwen said, wiping her palms on the skirt of her dress. She wondered if there was some subtle way to collect her basket and excuse herself. He followed her gaze. 

“Well well,” he said slowly, picking up her morning’s work. His grin spread, all concern evaporated. Gwen’s face felt so hot she knew he wouldn’t even have to ask - he already knew he’d caught her. “Napping on the job, Guinevere?” 

“I was _not_ napping!” 

“My apologies.” He sketched a small half bow, still an overblown courtesy for someone of her station. “Of course milady was only looking for more herbs? Here in the tall grass?”

“You are a horrid tease, your highness,” Gwen said. Arthur tipped his head back and laughed, which triggered alarming fluttering sensations in Gwen’s chest. 

“You’ve been spending far too much time with Merlin,” he said, smile boyish. “His bad habits are rubbing off on you.” 

“Well, a lady accepts what little stimulation she’s offered, sire,” she said, intending the comment to be wry and recognising only after it escaped her mouth how bawdy it sounded. 

Arthur flushed, running a hand through his hair and coughing to cover a partially formed chuckle. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Gwen said, delight at the realisation replacing her own embarrassment. 

“Of course not,” Arthur said, cheeks going even pinker. 

“It’s only the two of us; you can admit it,” Gwen said, enjoying herself. 

“Now who’s the tease?” 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying.” She lifted her chin in the manner she’d seen Morgana do countless times when Arthur accused her of double-speak, reaching to take back her basket. Arthur didn’t release the handle, instead using it to pull her closer. 

It was dizzying to be so near to him, just as it had been the first time. All of a sudden she could smell the warm scents of leather and horse, the tang of his chainmail. His pale lashes seemed almost translucent under the brightness of the springtime sun. His eyes were clear and blue and fixed on her face, the mirth in them fading like the sounds of birdsong that passed overhead. 

For a moment it seemed like he would kiss her, when he abruptly stilled, straightening. 

Gwen dropped her gaze to her basket, still held between them, then glanced back in the direction of the castle. Her eyes hadn’t deceived her that morning; Camelot was an imposingly large presence on their horizon, silenced only by distance and the hushed, natural music of the forest. But they were alone here, as she’d said herself. 

She peered at him. Some trick of the light stripped him of the prickly arrogance and self-consciousness she associated with his title. He looked at her, rueful, almost apologetic, his hand loosening on the handle of her basket as he began to step back to a respectful distance. Unthinking, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. 

Her stomach swooped with a confusion of panic and exhilaration. Arthur stared. 

Then he cupped her jaw in both hands and brought their mouths together. 

The basket tumbled to the ground, spilling its contents at their feet, where Arthur’s horse began to placidly graze.

* * *

_October: Ploughing or sowing_

Arthur settled deeper into his pillows, smiling indulgently. He dropped his hand to Merlin’s bare thigh, their shoulders brushing as Merlin fidgeted to get comfortable. 

“Are you sure this will work?” Gwen said, sounding sceptical. 

“It was Gaius’ recommendation,” Merlin reminded her, finally settling. “Among other things, like...uh, your satisfaction with, erm, bed performance?”

Gwen shrugged, biting into the fat, red strawberry in her fingers. Her dressing gown slipped, revealing one brown shoulder and the teasing shadow leading between her breasts. Merlin swallowed audibly. 

“I’m not complaining on either count, of course,” she said, knee-walking up the bed with one hand at her mouth and the other gently cupping more berries. 

“Mm, does that mean you’re well-satisfied, wife?” Arthur said, catching her around the waist and pulling her into his lap. Gwen tilted her head, pressing a berry to his lips. He bit off half, licking the juice from the raw edge before she offered the other half to Merlin. 

“I’m sure the two of you will continue to manage my satisfaction just fine,” she said, sly. Arthur grinned, reaching between the folds of her gown to press his palm to her flat belly. 

These moments were too infrequent, for a number of reasons, but when they were alone together it felt true in a way that couldn’t quite be matched anywhere else. 

Gwen slid off his lap to wriggle in between them, careful not to squish her handful of fruit. They turned inward towards her, Merlin parting her gown to skim his nose across her ribs and over her navel, whispering incomprehensible nonsense at her womb while Arthur threaded his fingers deep into his dark hair. 

The pain of loss and betrayal lived inside him, but Arthur was becoming comfortable with the idea that he needn’t try to fix every crumbled tower in his life. Ruins had their own sort of beauty, he thought, watching Merlin’s soft mouth work at the join of Gwen’s neck and jaw. Her eyes met his, knowing and warm, and beneath the sheets Merlin’s hand found his wrist. 

Arthur had no fear of an uncertain future, so long as they built it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I really liked the idea of remixing the sections of this fic in a way that could add to the calendar that glim established in her story with the [Labours of the Months](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labours_of_the_Months). So while the order of the sections here is meant to be sequential, they're not necessarily consecutive. ^_^


End file.
